


Make An Offering

by Oryx_Gazella



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oryx_Gazella/pseuds/Oryx_Gazella
Summary: Joining a cult for group safety seemed like such a good idea, too.





	Make An Offering

**Author's Note:**

> So, a couple content warnings. This fic contains biting, branding, sedation, vampirism/blood play, and a bit of cannibalism. Nothing sexual, and the reader is gender neutral. Since little to nothing is known about BL3 at the time of writing, consider this a headcanon-fueled thirst project. The main HCs to know are that troys gotta “steal” energy to keep up his siren powers, and also that those seams on his face split into a nasty monster mouth 👀
> 
> another note is that i did not replay either game to write this so...some worldbuilding intricacies might be wrong, and i plan to do nothing about this. im just out here yelling about monster dudes.

Admittedly, most of the reason you were here was for safety. When you had seen the posters around in your last few visits to the nearest trading post, you scoffed at the cult-like calls to join the ‘Children of the Vault’.  Who would fall for that, aside from the odd psycho still capable of reading?  

You thought that, of course, until you barely drove off a group of bandits that had descended on your little shack in the wasteland.  You had been banking on the run-down look of the place to advertise that there was nothing worth stealing in here, but some people can’t take a hint it seemed.  There was no doubt that they’d be coming back, probably with Outriders and definitely with more guns.  This last attack you managed to survive entirely by luck, and you weren’t too confident on that luck holding out a second time; suddenly the idea of being in a large group was more appealing, even if you had to…show your face at some insane church service weekly, or something.  Most things would beat getting riddled with bullets and left out for the scavengers.

With that, you packed up the belongings you could fit in a bag and set back off for the trading post.  After asking around a bit, you found out that once a week, a busted-up caravan would roll through to pick up anyone interested in joining the Children of the Vault; luckily you only had a day’s wait ahead of you.  

When the vehicle finally did show up, it was impossible to mistake it for anything else.  Inverted vault symbols and peering eyes decorated the metal, roughly marked with paint or blood; ‘whatever was on hand’ was the motto of the wasteland.  You had been hoping someone else would’ve been waiting with you by the time they got here, but it looked like you were the only convert today.    

Climbing into the caravan, a weathered-looking man standing beside the driver croaked out a “ _Welcome, disciple_.”  He was wearing some kind of leathery, layered red and white ceremonial robe; you felt sweaty just looking at him.  As it turns out, you were not the only convert on the caravan; four others occupied the seats that lined the walls.  You chose a spot beside the least-murderous looking one.

It was a bumpy, five-hour ride to the camp.  Despite wanting to stay awake and maybe pick up some…cult-appropriate behavior tips from the others, you ended up falling asleep with your skull vibrating against the wall of the van.  

You jolted awake, being gently shaken by the man who had welcomed you onto the bus.  Stepping out, you and the other converts for the day were shuffled into a fenced in area, and through the bars you were greeted by the admittedly impressive Children of the Vault camp.  

The large, walled-in compound was populated mostly by tents, small sheet metal structures, and the cargo-container-turned-homes that were so typical to the wastelands. The occasional stable building poked up, among the smaller homes, displaying indicators of shops and food and medical assistance; it was like a real settlement in here.  In the center was what you supposed was the ‘temple’, a definitely more purposeful structure, emblazoned with huge symbols of the cult and fronted with what looked like a stage.  

There wasn’t much time to examine the camp though, as you were quickly directed toward a short line leading to a set of steel doors.  You recognized the people from the van, and filed in behind them.  

“What’re we doing?” You half-whisper to the person in front of you.

“We’re gettin’ a checkup, making sure we aren’t bringin’ any disease into camp, and then we get our marks.”

“Oh- okay…” You wanted to ask exactly what  _getting a mark_  meant, but you figured it was a good idea to downplay the fact that you were only here to use this place as a shield; being  _completely_  clueless would’ve been a dead giveaway.

The line moved at a reasonable pace, and soon you were inside the building, just in time to wait a little more.  Every place you advanced was preceded by a dull hissing noise from the room the converts entered, and it was hard to not feel anxious about what could be happening behind the door. Maybe you should’ve asked for a pamphlet before deciding on joining a cult.

Once you reached the front of the line, you handed your bag off to be rifled through, and you were sent through the door.  The hiss of a gas torch drew your attention to a little kiln on the clinic’s counter, a window on the door hatch giving off a red glow. You dart your gaze from that to the tired-looking person in medical garb fitting a new sheet of paper into a clipboard.

After giving your name and basic information, a vial of blood, and getting checked for, among other things, a number of nasty Pandoran skin parasites, the doctor turned to the kiln.  They gestured to an exam table.

“Hold out your hand and set it on the table.”  They stated flatly, opening the door and pulling out an unmistakable branding iron.

The vault symbol glowed a yellow-orange that was hard to look at.  Trembling a little, you extended your arm with a deep breath.   _Remember, it was this or the bandits._   

“No, your palm.”

You flip your hand, trying not to shake and give them a harder target.

“Welcome disciple to the Children of the Vault may the light and fortune of the Calypsos shine on you now and forever.”  You would’ve laughed at the utter lack of emotion in this rushed incantation if you weren’t about to have a lovely new third degree burn.

Speaking of-

**_HHHSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS_ **

The pain was delayed for a second, but the noise was enough to make you instinctively react, jaw clenching shut so hard you thought your teeth might crack.  You could  _smell_  your own flesh burning.  The brand was pulled back and the pain hit, your fried nerves not sure if you were feeling extreme heat or cold, but it sure as hell  _hurt_ ; looking at the seared vault symbol sunken into the skin of your palm was only adding to your panic.  

Before you could yank your hand away to wave it around in agony, the doctor’s hand latched around your wrist and they began smearing some jelly-like cream over the mark.  Immediately the pain was soothed to a dull ache.

“Don’t wash that off for the next four hours or it’ll get infected.” They said, tossing the branding iron back into the kiln and filing your patient sheet away.  

After that, your day was a flurry of being sorted to your quarters (a small shack you shared with another wasteland scavenger, a pretty good roommate based on the number of raiders and psychos you saw milling around), being filled in on what duties were expected of you (based on your physical you were given a set of non-combat jobs), and when the religious services were (daily inside the temple, and ‘presentations’ would be given onstage at the Calypso’s discretion).  You’d have to show up to at least one service a week, and it was  _suggested_  to attend more.  

A couple weeks passed pretty uneventfully.  You’d only seen the Calypsos twice at this point, both times from a place far back in the crowd during their speeches.  You had to hand it to them; they were pretty charismatic- plus it was cool to finally see a siren in real life, never mind  _two_.  You’re pretty sure one of the speeches included a public execution of someone who had attacked the camp, though you didn’t have a good enough view to see what happened. The crowd sure liked it; you were surprised there wasn’t a riot based on how riled up they were getting.

One morning a voice droned over the speakers that dotted the camp, rousing you from your sleep.  The Calypsos had returned victorious from an outing, and all followers were supposed to go witness them; you groaned softly.  Couldn’t they wait until afternoon to come home?  

The next part of the announcement surprised you.  They were coming in through the northwest gate; the entrance closest to you.  Looks like you wouldn’t be in the distant back of the crowd this time… The thought was a little intimidating.  These two rulers and their travel party of the roughest bandits in camp were going to be passing right by your door.  All things considered, it was nice to be on this side of the equation.

You got dressed quickly and left your shack, your morning-person roommate already out and about.  People were already milling about around the gate, with more devoted followers jogging over from elsewhere in the camp.  You were…admittedly kind of excited to see them up close.  Warlords were basically celebrities on Pandora, and it was a rare experience to see one without being murdered.

The gates opened, and you stood on your tiptoes to get a better look. Cheering and devoted cries heralded the raiding party’s entrance, growing in intensity at the first glimpse of the twins.

They parted the crowd yards ahead of them as they moved through the camp.  You had never gotten a good look at either of them, and it made your heart stutter in your chest to see them coming toward you.  Even if you didn’t buy into what they were selling, they were powerful sirens, and just that fact was enough to amass a following.  

Tyreen was enough to make your blood run cold all on her own; regal, luminous blue dancing over her arm, keenly aware of just how devastating she could be, looking straight ahead with only her goals in sight…it didn’t seem fair that was another one.  Troy towered over her, eyes scanning over the crowd.  It was almost like they coordinated their siren markings along with their clothing, the softly glowing red that ran up to his face making a perfect contrast to hers.  Chains and crystals bounced against his chest, almost pointing out the tattoos decorating him. It became clear that they’d pass right by you, using the well-worn path leading to temple

As they advanced, you averted your eyes, suddenly remembering your desire to lay low.  But…one more glance wouldn’t hurt.  You lifted your gaze to steal another look at them and-

Both of them were looking directly at you as they passed. Time seemed like it was stopped; your heart certainly was.  Their icy eyes were held on you, though they didn’t break their stride at all.   The hint of a smile was on Tyreen’s face, and Troy’s eyebrow raised curiously.  You felt like you could evaporate on the spot without any help from a siren.

And then they were gone, backs to you, long coats flowing out behind them like capes.  You inhaled for the first time in years, and wondered if anyone else noticed that.  The crowd pushed you along to the temple stage, following their leaders.

You spent the entirety of their presentation in a daze.  Something had gone well and you were all blessed, apparently- something about a new supply train of weapons and shields and food. Once they had concluded, you found your way back to your quarters.  You tried to drive what had happened from your mind.  Why did they look at you?  Did they look at anyone else?  Were they mad?  They didn’t look mad.  You hadn’t done anything wrong and it’s not like they could tell you weren’t here out of faith…right?

  Every hour that passed quietly served to calm down the paranoid thoughts fluttering around.  Then there was a knock at the rough sheet of metal you called a door.

A temple priest stood in front of you, red, black, and white robes skimming the ground.  

“The Saviors have requested to hold audience with you.”  She stated.

You were pretty sure your insides just twisted themselves into a knot.  “They- W-with  _me_?”  This had to be a mistake, or a dream, or-

A hologram of your face sprang up out of a handheld projector, the terrible scan they had taken on your first day here, along with your name and the location of your little shack.  “Correct. With you.”

You stood without responding, unable to process the events and hoping maybe they’d just go away if you wished hard enough.

“Follow.  They will not be happy to wait.”  

It sounded like her voice was muffled and distant.  Could you remember how to walk?  You knew how to walk right?

Almost without permission, your feet moved forward, trailing behind the priest in a state of shock.  You wanted to ask  _why_ , but even if you could form words you doubted this person would give you a response.  There was no way you’d be able to make a run for it; one alert and you’d be tackled by every zealot in sight.  

You were at the temple much faster than you’d like.  Was the walk here always this short?  At the very least, the lack of a jeering crowd gathered at the stage pushed ‘getting publicly executed’ lower on the possibilities list.  Taking deep, even breaths to calm yourself, you entered the building with the priest, heavy doors shutting behind you both.

           The emotionless minister led you straight through the large atrium where services were held, the stained-glass panel depicting the Calypso twins backlit and radiant as always.  It was never quite as threatening as it was in this moment, the image of the two of them towering over you seeming to hint at your fate as you approached.  You were led into a back hallway, lavishly decorated with symbols and devoid of any outside light sources; the priest entered a that unlocked a sliding door at the end of the hall, and-

           Tyreen and Troy Calypso sat at the top of a raised platform, steep black stairs leading to their matching thrones.  Blue and red lines contoured the edges of the chairs, the otherworldly glow making them even more intimidating than usual.  The room was opulent, well-constructed; unlike anything you had seen firsthand on Pandora.  But the two of them, looking down at  _you_ , waiting for you to  _approach them_ …

           The sharp noise of the priest moving across the floor brought your soul back to the ground.  Scared as you were, this was absolutely beyond the time to think about making a break for it, or even disobeying in the slightest.  You hurriedly caught up and followed behind, trying not to physically vomit your entire heart onto the nice clean floor.   _Please just stop at the foot of the stairs-_

You were climbing the stairs, eyes glued to the red and white robe in front of you, not trusting yourself to look up and risk tripping.  When you reach the top, the worst happens; you’re directed to take more steps and approach them.  Panic tightens your throat, standing in front of the two sirens and feeling very small.  

           “Kneel.” Hissed the priest, pulling you with her to the ground.  “I’ve brought the devoted you requested, my Saviors.”

“You may return to your duties.”  Tyreen called to the high servant, dismissing her with a wave.  The priest stands and bows, and her footsteps fade behind you.  The door closes.

Tyreen and Troy stand seemingly in sync, and you keep your gaze lowered to the floor, wondering why you haven’t been vaporized yet.  The two stride forward until they’re right in front of you, wordlessly looking down at your kneeling form.  

You’re utterly frozen in place as Tyreen reaches out.  You’re braced for something agonizing; the twisting, glowing blue on her opposite arm like the warning colors of a poisonous animal. A jolt runs through you when all she does is cup your jaw with an almost reverent touch, tilting your head up to face them.

“You see Troy?  Can you feel it now?”  

You didn’t dare move as Troy reach out with his human arm to do the same on the other side, calloused fingertips grazing the side of your throat.  

His face splits into a grin, and he laughs. “Ohh,  _wow_. You were right Tyreen.”  

“Say that again.”

“Shut up.”

Troy shifted his hand to hold your chin as Tyreen moved hers away. Your heart was racing and he leaned in, tilting your head from side to side, appraising you and happy with what he was seeing.  It was here you noticed it; his teeth were  _sharp_. Some other kind of body mod to add to the arm and the piercings that dotted his face.  You couldn’t help but tremble.

“Oh now, don’t be scared.”  He purrs.  

“This is an honor, you know.” Tyreen’s voice was behind you, her hands sliding over your shoulders. “So few get the privilege of being chosen like this.”

Troy moved closer, and for one absurd moment you thought he was going to kiss you before he nudged his face under your jaw.

           You tried to jump, finally finding your voice to let out a yelp, but Tyreen’s hands kept you in place as Troy’s looped around your back.  

           “This’ll only take a second, relax…”  Her thumbs rubbed circles into your shoulders, doing little to calm you.

           “Wait-  _wait_ \- “ Was all you managed to get out before he  _bit you_.

           Troy sank his teeth into the base of your neck and shoulder, slicing through like there was no resistance.   Both of their grips tightened on you as you instinctively tried to scramble away; you were suddenly acutely aware of how easily Troy’s mechanical arm could simply crush you.  You wanted to raise your arms and push against his chest, but they were pressed tight to your sides, leaving you to squirm uselessly in his grip.

           “Shhhhh…” Tyreen soothed from above you.

           A cold feeling crept out from the bite, Troy’s teeth still in your shoulder.  Every thump of your racing heart spread the chill further, a sweeping warmth following its path and beginning to fill your arm and chest with an odd numbness.  Your breathing felt erratic, like your lungs were trying to slow down on their own accord, alternating between hyperventilating gasps and deeper breaths.  The warmth spread its way through your body, leaving slackened muscles in its wake, your shoulders falling and your frightened wriggling going still against your wishes.

           By the time Troy pulled his head away from your throat, you felt like if he let you go you’d collapse onto the floor.  You were barely able to hold your head up to see him looking you over; he was pleased.  Stark red blood stained his bottom lip, quickly erased as he ran his tongue over it.

“How do you feel, faithful?”  You could feel his voice rumble in his chest, held so close to him. His grip loosened, letting you slump slightly in his arms.

“ _I’m_ …”  Your voice was soft.  Words were lost.  You were warm.  It was nice to be held like this.

“Mmh,  _good_.” It was almost a  _growl_.

“Give it a few more minutes, Troy.”  Tyreen’s voice sounded like it was underwater.  She brushed your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.  “You don’t want to make a mess of this one if they panic.”

            “Wha…” You mumble.  

           “We ask all our followers to give their flesh to us in the form of the mark.”  Tyreen cooed, Troy gently mouthing at your branded palm as she spoke, holding your arm by the wrist. “But there is more you can do to  _serve_  us.”  Her fingertips caressed your jaw from behind, and you found yourself leaning into her hand, grateful for her touch, tilting your head up to look at her.  “ _Your sacrifice becomes our strength_.”  The blue markings on her arm were glowing, and you felt…floaty, tired… _weaker_.

           “ _Hey_ , that’s  _mine_.”  Troy rumbled.  You felt teeth baring against your wrist.

           Tyreen rolled her eyes, her hands slipping away from you and she stepped back.  

           You didn’t have the energy to shift forward and look at Troy, his mechanical hand splayed out over your back, supporting your limp body and warm from your own body heat.  He leaned in, breath hot over the still bleeding bite wound.  Troy dragged his tongue over the mark he’d made, continuing the motion up the side of your throat, a low growl of approval building in his chest.  

           “ _Where were you hiding_?”   His lips moved against your pulse, teeth grazing the fragile skin; you’d shiver if you could manage it.  Troy nipped at your jaw a bit before he pulled away just a little.

           A dull pop sounded from him.  A content sigh.  Curiosity spurred you to tip your head forward just enough to look at him.  

           His lower jaw had split at the chin, the seams along his cheekbones opening to reveal a mouthful of too many viciously sharp teeth.  His tongue hung between the divide in his jaw, significantly longer than a human’s should be.

           You should probably be alarmed.  Scared, even.  You lean your head back again, letting your eyes drift closed.

           “There you go…”  Tyreen’s voice came from nowhere, everywhere.

           Your shoulder was cold for a moment; something had torn through your shirt.  The chill was quickly replaced by Troy’s mouth, and you felt your head gently tugged to the side to give him more room.    

           The grip around you tightened when he bit down, the siren exhaling, crushing you to him like you were going to get away.  You could feel the distinct sides of his jaw move to dig into the soft muscle, catching a little on your collarbone and raking it with a strange buzzing feeling.  Maybe this should hurt.

           You felt a groan vibrate in his chest, in your own muscle and bone.  He pulled blood from the wound for a few slow heartbeats, before removing his teeth to lick at the bite, huffing for breath.  

           “ _Fuck_ …” He panted.  At least that’s what you think he said.  A jaw like that wasn’t good for forming words.

           He lunged back in, snapping his teeth around your shoulder again with enough force to jerk you around.  He was leaning forward, holding you, bent over you, surrounding you from all sides.  Something of yours  _cracked_ , and that just seemed to encourage him.  That same draining, weak feeling that Tyreen had given you a preview of was seeping in, much more intensely this time.  You felt like you could just fall asleep, just let him take care of everything.  

           Troy chased the blood pulsing lazily from the punctures and tears he had made, dragging his tongue over the lines before they reached your clothing and soaked in.  He adjusted you, holding you easily as a doll with his prosthetic arm, moving so he could more easily reach the hem of your shirt and push it upwards.  

           He paused, nosing over your soft middle like he was savoring the moment.  His breath was hot, your own blood dripping from his mouth onto your stomach tickling. Cracking your eyes open for the first time in a while, you could see his siren markings glowing intensely, his own piercing gaze flicking up to meet yours.  With his mouth split, face so soaked in blood and monstrous, he unmistakably  _smiled_  at you, giving you a wink before sinking his head down and tearing into your middle.  It was here you passed out, only coming around to briefly to feel a rib crack and the vibrating sensation of a ravenous snarl against your insides before going under again.  

Based on all that, you were truly surprised to wake up.  

You were lying on something soft and cushiony, twisted up in a sheet.  Before your eyes had even opened, your hands darted to feel your shoulder, your torso; there a scratch to be found.  Disorientation hit you in waves the second you tried to sit up; maybe lying down for a minute was a better plan.

A laugh nearly made you jump out of your skin “ _Ha_! are you still coming off the sedative?  Goddamn Troy how much did you give them?”

“Ehhh, might’ve gotten a little carried away.”   _Okay- okay so none of that was a dream so what the fuck was-_

Tyreen approached you, kneeling down to your level and trying to hold back a grin.  “You’re  _lucky_ , I really didn’t think Troy was gonna stop.  Well if you’re still out of it, that’ll make this next part a lot easier.”  

The world was still coming into focus, and none of this was helping.  You heard Troy getting up and coming closer, mismatched hands grabbing you and propping you up from behind, bringing a paralyzing shock of dizziness.  

“C’mon, you’ve heard stories about sirens healing people, haven’t you?”  He purred, your eyes squeezed shut against the room spinning.  “You’re so faithful and sweet, it would be such a shame to get rid of you.”

Tyreen had moved further away, to the other side of the room.  “You’re quite the little eridium sponge, you know that?  You must be absorbing trace amounts from the environment; it’s a wonder you aren’t falling apart from it.”

Troy was pushing the sheet off your right shoulder, exposing it. “Don’t worry though, we can help you keep it in check.”  He nuzzled under your jaw, and you could feel the grin on his face.

“But before we do anything else, we have to make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”  

You managed to open your eyes just in time to see Tyreen leaning down, holding a metal vault symbol like the one you had been branded with. It was glowing the same pale blue as her siren markings and it was…much bigger than the one on your palm.

Troy held you tight; not that you were able to struggle much yet. All you managed was leaning into him a bit, trying to back away from what was certainly going to hurt.

The siren-energized metal pressed into your skin with a hum, rather than the hiss you were expecting.  In an instant your muscles locked up like you were being electrocuted, raw energy surging through your body and choking the breath from you. Just as you thought your heart would burst, she pulled away, leaving you to slump and gasp for air in Troy’s arms.

Tyreen tilted your chin up, looking into your exhausted eyes with a sweet smile.

“You’ll be a good offering for us, won’t you?”

What choice did you have but to nod?

Tyreen all but giggled at your response, a dangerous grin lighting up her face.

“ _So obedient_.”  Troy laughed.  “I always wanted a willing sacrifice that hasn’t lost their mind.”

Tyreen rubbed her thumb over the aching mark she’d just put on you, speaking with a soft, saccharine voice.  “Go ahead and get some rest, faithful.”  Tyreen looked to Troy.  “ _We’ll have to get a collar made_.”  

Troy set you back down.  You just about melted onto the soft bed, too impossibly tired and sore to worry any more, asleep before they had even left.


End file.
